


home is where the heart is

by iphigenias



Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Wizard of Oz Fusion, Families of Choice, First Kiss, M/M, gratuitous use of commas, minor fantasy violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-26
Updated: 2017-03-26
Packaged: 2018-10-11 03:20:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10453782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iphigenias/pseuds/iphigenias
Summary: When Babe and his dog, Trigger, are swept by a tornado into the magical land of Oz, he’s pretty sure he’s dreaming. There’s no way his Vice-Principal is a Witch named Dick. Or that a walking, talking scarecrow really exists. But dream or no dream, the only way for Babe to get back home is to find the Wizard—a task that’s easier said than done. And with a vengeful Wicked Witch on his tail, not to mention a hopelessly inconvenient crush on a boy made of tin, learning to walk in these new ruby slippers is the least of Babe’s problems.Or, the Wizard of Oz AU.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was a long time coming, and I have so many people to thank for it: the organisers of the Big Bang, for putting together such an incredible project and pretty much reviving this fandom back from the dead. Marnie, for all your words of encouragement and inspiration, and for making me smile when things got tough (who knew Wizard of Oz memes existed?). May, for our lengthy world-building conversations and [muffled screaming] over each other’s fics (check hers out when it’s published April 1st!). Sophie, for the final beta and for going over my excessive comma use with a fine-toothed comb (even if I didn’t listen). Cody, my artist, for bringing my world to beautiful, incredible life. I am so glad this project brought us together. And to everyone else who yelled at me, keysmashed in my general direction, and motivated me to keep writing even when I was in a completely different country with very limited wifi. I love you guys, and I hope you love this fic, a product of my thoughts and your words and everything else in between.
> 
> Check out Cody's brilliant artwork [here](http://sebastian-theman-stan.tumblr.com/post/158869759862/band-of-brothers-big-bang-2016-2017-thank-you-to)!

Babe is outside with Trigger when the storm warning comes over the radio. Bill keeps one on the back porch railing, and likes to listen to it in the afternoons when he and Joe aren’t shooting the shit together. Babe’s lost count of the number of times he’s told Bill that the Internet is far better for keeping up with news and current events; but his uncle is a right stubborn bastard, and always just toggles the volume knob on the radio to drown out his nephew’s protests.

That afternoon Bill left the radio blaring while he and Joe went into the city. Babe would never admit it, especially not to Bill, but the background chatter of the radio broadcasters is actually kind of soothing to listen to, and yeah, the music they play isn’t _all_ bad, so he leaves it on while teaching Trigger to fetch. (Well, Trigger can fetch already. It’s the bringing-the-stick-back part that he needs to work on.)

The wind begins to pick up, and Babe should probably head inside before he accidentally throws the stick into their neighbour’s yard. At that moment however, the Guns N’ Roses song that had been playing suddenly cuts off, and Babe hears the sound for the emergency alert come over the speakers. He stops trying to coax Trigger back to him with the promise of a nice meaty bone and a belly rub, instead jogging over to the radio so he can hear the announcement over the gusts of wind.

 _…winds recorded at a staggering one hundred and fifty miles per hour just outside city limits. We advise everyone to get to their storm cellars or somewhere safe below ground. We’re in for a rough one, folks_.

Babe goes cold. _One hundred and fifty miles per hour_. That’s faster than tornadoes ever get around here—or anywhere, for that matter. This is bad. He hopes Bill and Joe have heard the news and are somewhere safe in the city— _he_ certainly wouldn’t like to be above ground in the middle of Philly when the winds hit for real.

Babe whistles for Trigger to come over and miraculously he does, although without his stick, that little shit. Babe grabs him by the collar and hauls him inside,; ignoring the rules of the house (“You can get a dog, Babe, but you’re dreamin’ if you think it’s gonna be sleeping on your bed. I ain’t cleaning no dog shit from your sheets.”) in favour of keeping Trigger safe. He’s sure Bill will understand. As long as he keeps Trigger from pissing on the carpet.

The wind whips Babe’s hair across his forehead as he struggles to get the screen door closed while keeping his grip on Trigger’s collar. With a loud bang he finally manages it, and shoulders the wooden door closed behind it. The deadlock broke on this door years ago, so Babe pulls the flimsy catch across, drags the side table over against the door and hopes to God it’ll hold.

A violent gust of wind sends the shutters rattling against their frames, and Trigger whines. “Hey, boy, it’s alright,” Babe says soothingly, gently stroking his hand through the dog’s fur. There’s a loud ripping noise, like Velcro, and Babe watches in mute horror as the persimmon tree that should be sitting in the back corner of the yard flies right in front of the windows and vanishes. The house begins to shake; Babe clutches Trigger tighter to his chest. His heart feels like it’s going to drum right out of his ribcage.

“Come on, boy. We gotta get to the cellar.” Babe’s legs shake underneath him as he starts to make his way towards the basement stairs, although on second thought, it might be the house that’s shaking, and not him. Trigger refuses to move altogether, so Babe heaves him into his arms so his head is resting on Babe’s shoulder. Fuck, this is one heavy-ass dog. Babe reminds himself to cut down on Trigger’s dinners, and that’s the last coherent thought he has, because suddenly the world spins sideways.

All Babe can think is: Bill is gonna kill me. He and Joe literally just paid the mortgage off last month. _They leave me alone for five minutes and this happens_ , Babe thinks, struggling to keep his footing on the tipping and tilting house. He doesn’t want to wonder about what this means—that the house isn’t on solid ground anymore, and is in fact being swept up in the tornado, which means that Babe’s lifespan has instantly and dramatically declined—and no, nope, Babe’s not thinking about it.

The house gives a colossal jerk, throwing Babe off his feet and into the air. He clutches Trigger to his chest, buries his face into his fur, and then something sharp and heavy hits the back of his head. Everything blacks out.

*

The first thing Babe’s aware of is the sun. He can feel the heat of it through his closed eyes; reminding him of hot summer days spent lying on the veranda swing seat, falling asleep to the sounds of Joe’s favourite game show on the TV, and Bill cluttering around in the kitchen. It takes Babe a good ten seconds to realise that it isn’t summer anymore, and his uncles aren’t at home, and the reason why the sudden warmth is making him so confused is—oh shit.

The tornado.

Babe sits up gingerly and rubs his eyes as the memories come flooding back to him. Playing in the yard, the storm warning over the radio, the tree being torn up from its roots—and then. Nothing.

Babe glances down to see Trigger lying across his lap, napping contentedly in the patch of sunshine flooding in through the window. When Babe shakes him gently, the German Shepherd looks up, cocks his head, then promptly licks Babe’s face, which is gross, but does allow Babe to breathe a little easier. If something was seriously wrong, Trigger would sense it. Besides, the sun is shining, and Babe can even hear the muffled sound of—was that _singing_? He takes a steadying breath and, giving a whistle for Trigger to follow him, walks over to the front door and steps outside.

Babe walks into a world of Technicolor. He’s seen old movies, knows what the over-saturation of the black-and-white film reels look like. Right now it feels like he’s stepped right into one. The sky overhead is impossibly blue and the rainbow stretching from one end to the other is so bright Babe has to look away. But things on the ground around him are even stranger.

The house (which Babe realises must have uprooted during the tornado, flown around for who knows how long, and landed here in Wonderland., amazingly without sustaining any visible structural damage and managing not to kill him or Trigger) has landed in what looks to be a town square. Or at least, a town square from a children’s fairy-tale book. Babe can see a spiral pattern of yellow brick which unwinds and stretches out into the distance, and trees trimmed into geometric shapes along the perimeter of the courtyard. But most of all he can see people.

At first glance Babe thought they were children, but now he sees that almost all of them are adults; none of whom stand any higher than Babe’s waist. And they’re singing. Which, okay. It takes Babe a moment to decipher the words, maybe because he’s still wondering what the hell he’s tripping on and how much trouble he’ll be in when his uncles find out (the answer: A Lot), but soon he can understand the lyrics. It doesn’t make him feel any better in the slightest:

 _“Ding dong, the witch is dead!_  
_Which old witch?_  
_The wicked witch!_  
_Ding dong, the wicked witch is dead!_

 _Wake up, you sleepy head,_  
_Rub your eyes,_  
_Get out of bed,_  
_Wake up, the wicked witch is dead!_ ”

Great. Now someone’s dead.

“This day literally cannot get any worse,” Babe says to himself, so of course, that’s when things go even more to shit.

A bubble appears on the horizon, growing bigger as it floats closer towards Babe. Trigger starts to growl, his hackles raised. The bubble bursts soundlessly, and Babe is left staring at his Vice Principal in a glittery pink ball gown.

He blinks.

“Um,” Babe says.

The Vice Principal walks over to Babe’s house and bends over. His dress obscures what it is he’s looking at, and Babe takes the brief respite to pinch himself repeatedly on the arm. It doesn’t work. Okay, so maybe he isn’t dreaming. Or he just can’t wake up. Maybe he hit his head harder than he thought and he’s—Babe cuts off than train of thought before it can leave the station. He’s _not dead_ , because Heaven sure as Hell don’t look like this.

Babe looks back over at the Vice Principal, who is still bent over examining something at the side of Babe’s house.

“Um, Mr Winters, sir?” he asks, trying to ignore the gazes of the literally hundreds of people (what had Winters called them? Munchkins?) behind him. “Where are we?”

“Hmm?” Winters turns around, his dress making a puffy, swishing kind of sound. “Why, we’re in Oz, of course. And I’m afraid you’ve confused me for someone else. I am Dick, the Witch of the North.”

“Um,” Babe says.

“So are you a good witch or a bad witch?” the Vice Principal— _Dick_ , seriously, what the fuck, this has got to be a dream—asks again. Babe clears his throat.

“Um. Neither?”

“So this must be the witch.” Dick is looking at Trigger, who barks excitedly at the attention.

“Um, no,” Babe says. “This is my dog, Trigger. He’s not a witch.”

“Oh.” For the first time since he arrived in his bubble express, Dick looks concerned. Babe would too if he was wearing a dress like that. “Oh dear. It appears we’ve misread the situation—only, we thought you were a witch. Since only witches can kill other witches.”

“Um,” Babe says, feeling like a broken record. “What?”

Dick the Witch of the North steps aside, and Babe catches sight of what he had been examining earlier. “Oh dear indeed,” he says absently, eyes fixed on the legs sticking out from beneath his uncles’ house, and promptly throws up on the grass in front of his feet. “Not real,” he whispers to himself, wiping his mouth and standing upright again. “This isn’t real.”

Babe glances at the dead body (or what can be seen of it, at least) then quickly looks away again. “So, hypothetically, if I _did_ kill that—that witch, would I be in any kind of hypothetical trouble? Say, a prison sentence for manslaughter, for instance?”

Dick laughs. “Oh, no, silly! This was a wicked witch! Your great deed shall be celebrated across Oz until the end of time!”

“Great.” Just what Babe always wanted. To go down in history for accidentally killing someone. “So if you’re a witch, any chance you could send me back home again?”

Before Dick can answer, an unholy cackle rips through the air, and a figure in black comes tearing through the sky on a broomstick. “You’ll pay for this!” they say, taking a swoop at Babe, but Dick waves his wand (and if that isn’t the best double entendre ever, Babe will eat his socks), there’s a flash of red light and a bang, and the flying figure careens away as if burned. “I’ll get you!” they shriek, streaking back off towards the horizon, but not before Babe catches a glimpse of swamp-green skin. He shudders. Witches on broomsticks were a lot less scary in _Harry Potter_.

“I’d very much like to wake up right now,” Babe tells Trigger, who wags his tail in agreement, then lifts his leg to pee on the remnants of Babe’s breakfast. Babe’s stomach turns and he looks away before he can puke up last night’s dinner as well. He walks forward towards Dick instead, determined on getting out of here in any way he can. Or at least, he tries. Babe takes one step and promptly falls flat on his face. Trigger barks and licks the back of his neck. “Thanks buddy.” Babe heaves himself back up and looks down at his feet. Well. That would explain it. “Why am I wearing glittery red kitten heels?” Babe says, slightly horrified at himself for knowing what kitten heels are, and also slightly proud. But mostly horrified.

“ _Those_ are ruby slippers,” Dick corrects, “And they will keep you safe from the Wicked Witch of the West, so never take them off as long as he roams the skies.”

“Is that who that was? The Wicked Witch of the West?” Babe gives a low whistle. “You guys are real inventive with your names, huh?” Dick blinks. “Well, I hate to leave so soon, since we’ve only just met and all—but I really gotta get home, so could you, I dunno, pinch me to wake me up or magic me somewhere or something?”

Dick’s lips give a downward twist, and Babe’s heart sinks. “Right. Of course it ain’t that easy. Figures.”

“I am sorry, my dear,” Dick says. “Your best hope for finding your way home is to seek out the Wizard of Oz. He is both great and powerful. Simply follow the yellow brick road, and it will lead you right to his Emerald City.”

“Right.” Babe takes a hesitant first step onto the inner spiral of the yellow road. _This is all just a dream_ , he thinks. _What’s the harm in following it a while?_ “To grandmother’s house we go,” he says under his breath, and sets off on the path, Trigger at his side. Babe doesn’t look back, but the strains of the Munchkins’ morbid song, which they began singing once again with even greater jubilation than before, follow him all the way past the town limits, and beyond.

*

Babe will never make fun of his cousins ever again. Heels really do take practice to walk in properly. Of course, it probably doesn’t help that Babe’s walking along what are basically cobblestones—it’s a trip hazard waiting to happen. Well. It’s a trip hazard that’s already happened. Twice, to be exact. But since there were no witnesses besides Trigger, who is a faithful dog and would never betray his master’s trust (a blatant lie; Babe bribed him with the treats in his pockets) Babe will take those face plants to the grave.

By the time the yellow brick road leaves the rolling meadows of Munchkinland and enters a stretch of cornfields, he thinks he’s got the hang of them. The trick is to watch where he’s going and not get distracted. Which is much easier said than done, since distraction is Babe’s middle name. (Actually, it’s James, but that’s besides the point.) _God_ , Babe thinks. If only his uncles could see him now. The thought makes his heart sink a little in his chest.

See, the thing is, Babe knows that this is probably a dream. He’s like, ninety-nine percent sure. Maybe ninety-eight. A pretty whack dream, full of stuff Babe wouldn’t have thought it possible to dream up, but a dream nonetheless. Still—he misses home. Misses his family. Wonders if the storm hit them hard, and how they’re holding up, and if they know what happened to him yet (that’s something Babe would love to know the answer to as well—is he in a coma? Or just sleeping? Where did their house end up if not here in Whackville?).

Babe sighs and kicks a stone from the path. It bounces into the swaying corn and disappears from view. Not even a second later, Trigger’s ears perk up like they do whenever he catches sight of a bird. Babe doesn’t even have time to yell, “NO, TRIGGER!” (which would have been completely ineffective anyway, he really hasn’t trained this dog well at _all_ ) before the German Shepherd is off, racing into the corn and leaving Babe stranded.

Babe looks down at his shoes, incredibly impractical for walking along a cobblestone path let alone running through crop fields, and sighs. “You gotta be kidding me.” Why couldn’t he have dreamt himself up some more practical footwear? With one last longing look at the yellow brick road stretching out in front of him, Babe steps off the path and follows Trigger into the corn.

It’s itchy, which in hindsight Babe probably should’ve expected. It’s also damn near impossible to see anything; it’s not that Babe is short (okay, he kind of is) but the corn is really fucking tall, and Babe probably would’ve been lost in there forever (can you even imagine the obituary?) if it weren’t for Trigger, barking and acting like a homing beacon for Babe to follow.

He bursts out of the maze (ha, maize, get it?) into a small clearing, where Trigger is sitting and nibbling at the straw foot of the scarecrow planted in the middle of the open area. There’s something wrong with this picture, and it takes Babe a moment too long to place it: the scarecrow is giggling. As in, the scarecrow is alive and laughing because Babe’s dog is eating his leg. (Would that could as cannibalism? Or is a man made of straw still considered a vegetable?)

“No! Trigger!” Babe dashes forward and pulls the dog away from the scarecrow. Trigger looks up at him with a mournful expression, the bits of straw sticking out of his teeth somewhat ruining the look. “I’m so sorry,” Babe informs the scarecrow, because in a situation like this, politeness is all he has up his sleeve. That and a rapidly developing rash from the corn. “He’s a good dog, really. Just… hungry.”

The scarecrow smiles jovially and gives as much of a shrug as he can while being strapped to a wooden pole. “Nothing to apologise for. It rather tickled, actually!” He gives another giggle.

“Um. Right.” Babe casts around for something to say. “Er—what’s your name then? I’m Babe.”

“George! Pleasure to meet you. I’d shake your hand, but I’m a little tied up at the moment.” The scarecrow—George—laughs again. “Although if you’re here to steal some corn, I’m going to have to scare you away. That is my job, you know!”

“Oh, no,” Babe says hurriedly. “We’re not here for your—um—corn.” ( _Why_ does that sound like an innuendo?) “We’re actually on our way to see the Wizard. He’s going to send me home.”

“And where is home for you, Babe?”

Babe’s heart gives an ache. “South Philly,” he says. George perks up at the name. “Have you been there?”

“Me? No. Haven’t the foggiest where it is!”

Babe waves at the rainbow in the sky behind him. “Somewhere over there,” he says. The scarecrow gives a vacant nod and smile. Something niggles at the back of Babe’s brain—doesn’t Uncle Joe have a friend called George? And if Babe’s not mistaken, he does look an awful lot like the scarecrow in front of him. Except, you know. Not full of straw.

“Anyway,” Babe says, after an uncomfortable silence. “We’d better be off.”

“To see the Wizard?” Babe nods. “Would you mind terribly if I came along too? Only, the man who made me didn’t give me a brain, and I’d awfully like to have one.”

“Oh, uh.” George looks at Babe hopefully. “Well, alright then. It’ll be nice to have company besides a dog.” Trigger gives a soft huffing sound, and Babe rolls his eyes. “Baby.” He turns back to George, who is squirming on his pole ( _God_ why does everything sound so dirty in Babe’s head?) trying to get free.

“Need a hand?” Babe walks over and grabs George by the waist. He really is made of straw through and through—he weighs no more than a bale of hay. Babe hoists him up until he’s free of the back pole, then helps to untie his wrists and sets him gently on the ground. George gives a delighted laugh.

“Look at me!” he says. “I’m walking!” He takes a step and promptly falls flat on his face. Babe winces. Been there, done that. Twice. George gets back on his feet, swaying a little, but doesn’t fall again. He gives Babe a happy grin. Trigger barks excitedly, and Babe can’t help but laugh too. Maybe the road to the Wizard won’t be so boring after all.

*

Babe takes it back. The road is boring as hell.

George isn’t a help, humming the same irritating song under his breath and every now and again imitating the bird calls from around them. Babe doesn’t want to be rude, but he also doesn’t want a headache as well as blisters on his feet from the heels. He’s about to tell George exactly that (well, maybe not exactly, Babe isn’t heartless) when he sees something odd on the road up ahead. The sun is glinting off something shiny—something metal from the looks of it, which is unusual in itself, because ever since Babe got here all he’s seen are farmlands and the town in Munchkinland with its brick and wooden houses like in olden-times. What’s even weirder though, is when they get closer, Babe sees that the metal is actually a statue of a man in khakis, suspenders, and an old-fashioned button-up shirt. It’s ridiculously realistic, and when Babe walks over from the path to get a closer look, he jumps back in horror when the statue’s eyes swivel to the side to meet his own.

“Holy shit!” Babe walks closer again, Trigger at his heels, George somewhere back on the path. The metal man’s eyes track his movements. “Are you—are you real?” The man stares at him flatly, and Babe takes that as a yes. He walks even closer and—oh, wow. For a guy made of metal, he is _really_ attractive. And frustratingly familiar, but Babe can’t place him. “Do you need help?” The man moves his eyes up and down in what Babe realises is a nod. “Okay, um, wait here—um, sorry,” he says, glancing at the man’s frozen stance and then looking over his shoulder at George. “Ideas?”

George hums in thought. “A corn field, but like, underwater. So you’d never have to worry about watering ever again!”

Babe stares. “…I _meant_ , ideas to help this guy?”

“Oh.” George shrugs. “This is why I need a brain.”

“Right.” Babe looks at Trigger. “What about you, huh?” Trigger barks and races off into the trees behind the metal man. Babe groans. “Not again!” He follows Trigger with only minor cussing when the heel of his right shoe gets caught on a tree root. They don’t run far, thank God, as Trigger comes to a halt beside a small wooden building with an axe embedded in a woodblock outside. Babe realises it probably belongs to the tin man, who likely froze up on his way to collect more wood to chop. Trigger noses at the door and Babe opens it. There’s a can of oil inside. “Huh.” Babe turns to look at Trigger. “Smart dog.”

Babe races back over to the metal man and dribbles the oil over each of his joints. As he goes, the tin man slowly begins to move; squeaking at first but soon quietening as his joints smooth out. Babe kneels down to oil the tin man’s knees and ankles, then stands and gives the guy his most alluring smile (because the guy might be made of metal and this might be a dream but Babe isn’t _dead_ , okay, he accepted his bisexuality years ago). The man looks at him with something like amusement in his eyes, before tapping his lips with a silver finger. And, okay. Probably should’ve thought of that one.

“Sorry,” Babe says, pouring the last of the oil over the tin man’s mouth. “Are you okay now?”

The guy gives a smile. “As good as I’ll ever be,” he says, in an accent that goes straight to Babe’s knees and also makes his brain click into place. The new kid at school, _that’s_ who the guy reminds Babe of. He can’t remember his name; only that he started last week, is from Louisiana, and has a smile to die for. Seeing that same grin in silver doesn’t lessen the effect whatsoever. “Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.” Babe hesitates for a moment, before sticking out a hand and grinning. “I’m Babe. That’s George, and this is Trigger. We’re on our way to see the Wizard.”

The tin man takes Babe’s hand and shakes it firmly. His eyes rove over the others and he gives another small smile. “’s a long way to Emerald City,” he says.

“You’ve been?”

The man sighs. “Naw. I’ve read about it, ’s all. ’m Gene.”

“Babe.”

“You already said that.”

“Right.” Babe is pretty sure he’s blushing because his face feels as red as a sauna, and Gene is smiling again, which really isn’t doing anything to help. “Well, we should be going. It’ll be dark soon.”

“Uh-huh.” Gene gives another smile, this one sad, and Babe’s heart catches in his chest.

“Did you wanna come with?”

Gene looks at him, and Babe wishes this weren’t a dream. “You said you’re gonna see the Wizard?” he asks. Babe nods. “Well in that case…yeah. I wanna come with. Got a favour to ask for myself.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Gene looks at him, is still looking at him, and something in his smile is soft and sad. “Ain’t got a heart in here,” he says, rapping his knuckles against his chest. The sound is hollow. “I think I’d rather like one.” He walks past Babe to meet George on the path, and Babe looks down to Trigger in disbelief.

“I’m fucked,” he says simply, reaching a hand up to tap his own chest, where his heart is beating a lot faster than it should for a dream guy made of tin who doesn’t ( _can’t_ ) feel the same way back. And even if he did—it wouldn’t be real anyway.

*

It surprises absolutely no-one when Babe falls into step with Gene as their party continues along the yellow brick road. George is playing fetch with Trigger a little way ahead, and to Babe’s annoyance is far more successful at convincing Trigger to bring the stick back than Babe ever was.

“He’s a smart dog,” Gene says, and Babe grins at him.

“He is when he wants to be. Not when he’s around my uncles, that’s for sure.”

“You live with them?”

“Yeah.” Babe kicks a stone and sends it bouncing down along the path. “Ma died a couple years back and my dad booked it right after I was born, so.”

“I’m sorry,” Gene says. “That must ha’ been hard.”

“Yeah. It was.” Babe glances at Gene after a few moments of walking in silence. The tin man is staring at the ground, his silver hair not moving an inch in the breeze that’s probably whipped Babe’s hair into a right mess. Despite the clothes and the metallic sheen, and the fact that he’s moving just as a regular human would, Gene reminds Babe of one of those old Roman statues his ma used to drag him to the museum to see: remote, unflinching, and cold. “You have family? Friends?”

Gene laughs. “Do I look like I have family?” Babe gives a shrug. “I ain’t born, I was made. A Tin Woodsman to do the work of ten regular men. ’s not a job that leaves much room for friendship.”

“You’re here, though,” Babe says, and Gene looks up at him, startled. “That’s gotta count for something, right?”

“Yeah.” Gene looks back down at his feet, but he’s smiling. “Guess it does.” They fall into comfortable silence after that. Babe finds he doesn’t mind at all.

It’s maybe an hour later that the farmlands and fields they’ve been passing give way to a sprawling copse of trees. The path cuts right through the middle, and the forest stretches far enough that Babe can’t see through the darkness of the trees.

“Anyone else have a bad feeling about this?” he wonders aloud, and Gene just gives a shrug  before pointing to something ahead of them on the path. Babe looks and sees George already headed into the woods, Trigger bounding behind him. He sighs. “Guess this is what happens when you don’t have a brain, huh?” Gene huffs out a laugh. Squaring his shoulders, Babe forges ahead on the path with Gene at his side. He doesn’t realise he’s holding his breath until the last bit of sunlight gives out and they’re standing in near darkness.

“Don’t suppose anyone has a flashlight?” Babe receives a muffled _no_ in response. “Alrighty then. Hi-yo silver,” he says, quoting one of Bill’s favourite old movies, and plunges deeper into the forest.

It’s not as bad as Babe first thought. There are patches of sunlight here and there, and even when there isn’t, a dim light still pervades the trees. He supposes that in a dream set in a land so sweet it’s probably giving him a cavity, nothing here can be too dark or scary. (Babe will later come to revise that opinion.) George passes the time by doing impressions of the different people he’s met as a scarecrow over the years. Babe finds himself laughing along with the funnier ones, and though Gene stays silent, every time Babe looks over at him he’s smiling too. Trigger sticks close to the group, probably scared of the darkness beyond the path. Babe leans over to reassuringly scratch behind his ears.

They continue like this for a while, a tight-knit group navigating their way through the trees in silence broken only by quiet laughter and George’s antics. There’s a lull in the conversation after a while, though, and that’s when Babe hears the growl. He jumps backwards into Gene, who catches him instinctively around the waist. Babe’s heart is hammering in his chest, and he wouldn’t be surprised if Gene could feel it too. If he would know what a beating heart felt like, anyway.

The growl comes again, closer this time, and Trigger raises his hackles and growls right back. Unexpectedly, there is then a frightened yelp, and Babe comes face to face with one of the strangest things he’s ever seen, which is saying something, considering he is currently keeping company with a walking statue and a talking scarecrow. Out onto the path steps a lion, walking on his two back legs, with his tail clutched between his front paws and a mane that is quivering as he shakes like a leaf. And—

“ _Julian_?” Babe asks, feeling his eyebrows ascend into his hair. Gene seems to realise at that moment that he is holding Babe, because he is pushed unceremoniously back onto his feet. Babe can feel a flush rising in his cheeks, which he ignores, and looks instead at the lion who bears an eerie resemblance to the kid from down the street back home who always insists on hanging out with Babe’s friends, and who Babe never has the heart to say no to.

“H-how did you know my n-name?” Julian stutters, looking fearfully down at Trigger who picks that moment to bark loudly. Julian lets go of his tail in fright, jumps backwards, and lands on said tail, causing him to yelp again, this time in pain.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Babe says soothingly, reaching out his hands in a gentle gesture. He looks to both George and Gene for help, but the former just shrugs and taps his empty skull, and the latter is looking warily at the lion’s rather impressive set of incisors. Babe rolls his eyes. No brain and no heart does not a good calming presence make.

“Look at me. Julian? Hey, look at me.” Babe waits until the lion meets his eyes, then smiles comfortingly. “Hey, it’s okay. That’s just Trigger—he’s friendly, really, just a bit nervous around strangers. Like you, I guess.” Julian glances quickly at the dog and then away again, still shaking. “You have nothing to worry about! Aren’t lions predators? If anything it’s Trigger who should be scared.” Babe shoots his dog a glare but Trigger just stares right back and does nothing. Useless, useless dog.

“Ah-actually I’m a v-vegan,” Julian says, and Babe blinks.

“Course you are.”

Slowly, Julian starts to calm down, and lets his tail flop back around behind him. “Are—are you going to see the Wizard?” he asks after a few minutes. Babe nods. “Do—do you think he c-could give me some c-c-courage?”

 _Big surprise there_ , Babe thinks.

“Of course!” he says out loud. “I’m going there for a way home, but George and Gene are looking for some vital organs, and if he can help them, I’m sure he can help you. Why don’t you come with us?”

Julian gives a shaky nod and comes over to Babe, giving Trigger a wide berth on the path. The five of them set off once more, and this time it’s Gene who falls into step beside Babe, and looks at him until he meets his eyes.

“You’re asking the Wizard for a way home?” he says, quietly enough that he won’t be overheard.

“Yeah,” Babe says. “That’s what Dick said I should do, anyway. And right now I don’t really have any other options. I don’t wanna stick around here any longer than I have to.”

“Right.” Gene keeps walking and looks like he wants to shove his hands in his pockets, if only they weren’t sculpted tin. And the thing is, Babe knows he’s said the wrong thing, knows it from Gene’s expression and the feeling of wrongness inside his own heart, but damned if he knows how to fix it. Babe isn’t good with broken things. He’s not good with anything, really, except accidentally killing wicked witches and being a grade A screw-up. So he lets Gene move ahead of him on the path, and for the rest of the way through the forest keeps his eyes on the back of Gene’s head, wondering about if Gene were real, how many freckles he’d have on the back of his neck, and if Babe would be able to count them from here.

*

They’ve been walking through the wilderness for so long now, Babe feels like he’s starring in an indie coming-of-age movie. He’s ended up in the lead of the group, with Julian disconcertingly close behind him. Babe will have to have a chat to him about personal space, because gentle as he really is, it’s really fucking off-putting to have a humanoid lion breathing down the back of your neck. Gene and George are bringing up the rear, while Trigger bounces between them all, sometimes dashing off the path and returning right in front of Babe, giving Julian a fright and making him clutch onto Babe’s shoulders. Babe’s pretty sure Trigger’s scaring the lion on purpose, because he’s a little shit.

“Wonder where he learned that one from,” Babe says under his breath, giving his dog a fond look. Trigger just pants happily and bounds off to nibble on George again—at this rate, there’ll be nothing left of the scarecrow to show to the Wizard.

A sudden cackle rends the air and makes Julian jump entirely onto Babe’s back, who then staggers under the weight and also the incredible difficulty of carrying a grown lion piggyback whilst wearing high heels. He looks up with great difficulty to see the Wicked Witch of the West careening towards their group on a broomstick, cackling madly.

“SHIT!” Babe yells, throwing Julian off his back and diving for cover amongst the trees. He hears more than sees as his companions follow suit. The cackle grows louder and suddenly there’s a scream., and Babe watches in horror as Julian is dragged by his tail out from the bushes. Babe swears again, because there’s really no other option is there? He shimmies back out of the leaves and stands up to see the Witch laughing and tugging on Julian’s tail, who is whimpering in terror. Up close the Witch is disturbingly green, and distressingly emo-styled. Babe should know. He went through the phase three years ago. The Witch also, horrifyingly, looks rather like Babe’s Principal, Herbert Sobel; albeit in an alternate universe where he’s the rejected member of MCR. Babe pushes that horrible thought out of his mind and yells to get the Witch’s attention.

“Hey!” he shouts, waving his arms. “Looking for me?” The Witch drops Julian’s tail and zeroes in on Babe, dive-bombing him whilst still laughing madly. Babe ducks, and feels the whoosh of the broomstick over his head. The Witch circles back around and instead of diving again, starts launching projectiles at Babe and Julian. Most of them are fireballs, but oddly, there are some green apples thrown into the mix. They actually look pretty tasty; if they weren’t being used as murderous weapons against Babe and his friends, he would totally collect them to save as snacks for later. And maybe give one to Gene, because he’s nice like that. (And also maybe a little curious to see if a guy made of tin can digest a Granny Smith.)

Speaking of Gene, Babe sees the Tin Man duck out from the bushes, pick up one of the fallen apples, and launch it back at the witch. He has deadly aim, and the fruit knocks the Witch’s hat right off his head. Babe laughs and turns his grin on Gene, who looks rather shocked and like he would be blushing if he wasn’t made of metal. The thought makes butterflies erupt in Babe’s stomach, but there’s more pressing things to worry about now, so he pushes the notion out of his mind.

The Witch swoops down to recover his hat, then careens at them, angrier than ever. And he’s flying right at Gene, which makes Babe’s vision go red. He launches himself at Gene, wrapping his arms around him and knocking them both to the ground. The Witch misses them by inches. Gene makes a small noise in the back of his throat and Babe lets go as if burned.

“Um, sorry,” he mutters, scrambling back to his feet and preparing for the next onslaught.

“What do you want from us?” Babe shouts. “I didn’t mean to kill your friend, I swear! I’m not—I’m not from here, I don’t know what’s going on, please, I just wanna go home!”

High above in the air, Babe can just make out the Witch scowling. “It doesn’t matter if you meant to or not! Those slippers belong to me! _They’re mine!_ ” He swoops again, and Babe jumps on his stomach to avoid it. The whole world flips upside down. The Witch is after the slippers! Babe bends forward to take them off, but pauses. When he first woke up here in Oz he would’ve given the shoes up in a heartbeat, but now… It’s not only that they’re comfortable, because they are, but that wearing them somehow makes Babe feel safe—well, saf _er_ , anyway. In fact, he wouldn’t be surprised if Dick had put some kind of spell on them, to keep Babe out of harm’s way. He gets to his feet and stares up at the Witch.

“Come and get them then, asshole!” he shouts. Distantly he hears Gene yell out his name, voice fearful and cracking. But Babe hardly registers it. He faces the Witch head on, and as the green-skinned scene Principal comes hurtling towards him, Babe braces for the impact. He closes his eyes. _It’s just a dream_ , he thinks to himself.

But then: a growl, and a sharp yelp of pain. Babe opens his eyes a fraction, then all the way. He can’t believe what he’s seeing. But then again, he can, because this is Oz.

Trigger is latched onto the back end of the Witch’s broomstick, and from what Babe can see, has his sharp teeth sunk into Sobel’s backside. Babe laughs. Trigger looks ridiculous, hanging in the air from his mouth, but the Witch looks even worse: flying madly, screaming shrilly, and shaking his rear end, trying to dislodge the sizeable German Shepherd from his ass. Trigger doesn’t let go until the Witch has flown back closer to ground, and he’s able to drop to the road and land on his feet. He bounds over to Babe, a torn black cloth in his mouth. Babe looks back up to the Witch, who is flying away in pain and embarrassment. The red polka dots of his underwear are visible through the hole in his robes.

“Good boy, Trigger!” Babe grins, crouching down and giving his dog a big hug. The others rush over, laughing and congratulating Trigger on his fine work. Julian comes over last, and looks at the dog with big, fearful eyes, but there’s something else in them too: a glint of determination, perhaps, something just short of courage.

“Th-thank you,” he says seriously, bending down to give Trigger a pat. His hand is shaking, but he isn’t backing away, and it’s all Babe can do not to stare in disbelief. Only a few hours ago, Julian had been a quaking mess in the presence of Trigger, and yet here he is, right beside Babe, patting him as enthusiastically as George.

Privately, Babe thinks that maybe Julian doesn’t need the Wizard, if he only allowed himself a little more adventure.

“Well, I guess we know what the Witch is afraid of now,” George says with a grin, and they all laugh. Babe glances sideways at Gene, and feels his heart stop, because his tin smile is shining like the sun. Babe looks away, and hugs Trigger once more. If this is a dream, he’s glad his subconscious dragged his dog into this mess along with him. Even if Trigger still can’t play fetch to save his life.

*

A little while later, Gene hangs back from where he’d been leading the group to fall into step with Babe. It’s becoming a thing for them. “Thanks, by the way,” he says softly, giving Babe a small smile. “For pushin’ me out of the way. I think the Witch prob’ly woulda steamrollered me if you hadn’t.”

“It was more of a collision than a push,” Babe replies, rubbing the back of his neck as he feels it blush red. “But you’re welcome.” They walk in silence for a while, until Babe can’t take it anymore. He stops walking abruptly, and Gene looks at him in confusion. “I know I’m only going to Oz so I can go home again,” he begins, suddenly nervous. This is nothing like asking out girls at home. “But I—I’m gonna miss you, when I’m gone. All of you. But—but especially you, Gene.” Gene isn’t saying anything, is still looking at Babe, and the confusion is gone from his eyes and replaced by something else Babe can’t name. Whatever it is, it’s warm, it’s encouraging, and Babe takes a chance. He reaches out and places his hand gently against Gene’s chest. The metal is cool to the touch and Babe’s palm is sweaty with nerves. He looks up and meets Gene’s gaze.

“If I had a heart, it would belong to you,” Gene says. George and Julian are somewhere ahead of them on the path, and Babe knows they should catch up, that nothing should stop him from trying to get to Oz and help his friends and get home again—except, except Gene is looking at him, _looking_ looking, and maybe it doesn’t matter than Gene has no heart because Babe’s is beating fast enough for both of them.

“We should go,” Babe finds himself saying, and something in Gene’s expression closes off like a shutter. He takes a step back, and Babe’s hand falls uselessly by his side. “Gene,” he calls out once his tongue unsticks itself from the roof of his mouth, when Gene is already several paces ahead of him. Gene stops, but doesn’t turn around. “I’m gonna find your heart,” Babe says, “And I’m gonna give it to you. Promise.” Gene says nothing, but waits for Babe to catch up with him, and when he chances a glance over at the Tin Man, the corner of his mouth is tucked into a smile.

*

They continue on the path for several more foot-aching hours. By now it should probably be getting dark, but since this is a dream, the sky stays as bright and sunny as ever. Babe hopes that Dick charmed the slippers with SPF 50+, and wishes he’d dreamt up a hat for the journey.

The group rounds a bend in the path and suddenly, there it is: the Emerald City. It shimmers green in the distance in such a way that if the others hadn’t let out loud exclamations at the sight, Babe would’ve thought it was a mirage.

“We’re almost there!” George yells excitedly, and sets off at a run through the field of poppies that provides a shorter way to the city than the winding brick road. Babe and the others quickly follow. The flowers smell sweet, sweeter than his neighbour Renee’s French roses back home. Running through them, Babe feels lighter somehow; like the trials of the journey here and missing home and this whole mess with Gene has just been lifted from his shoulders.

Gradually, Babe’s footsteps slow down. Vaguely, as though from a distance, he sees the others slow to a walk as well. Why shouldn’t they stop for a rest? They have, after all, travelled a great distance, and the fight with the Witch may have taken a lot more out of Babe than he’d originally thought. He feels far more tired all of a sudden, and thinks maybe if he laid down for a minute or two, everything would be a lot clearer in his now-fuzzy head.

So Babe does just that. He sits down, then reclines, then ends up lying down altogether. Trigger is barking at him, but the sound is coming as if from underwater. Babe closes his eyes, breathing in the sweet poppy smell once more, and finds he can’t hear Trigger at all.

Babe opens his eyes. He’s back home in bed. He recognises the soft blue of the walls, the baseball mitt on the sideboard. He really is home! Babe leaps out of bed, grinning, and races out of the room. Bill and Joe are seated at the kitchen table together, eating toast and reading the newspaper. Bill glances up as Babe enters.

“Well look who it is, sleepyhead,” he laughs, pushing a fresh plate of toast towards Babe’s usual seat. “You sleep like the dead.”

Babe rolls his eyes and sits down, grabbing the apricot jam from the centre of the table and spreading it liberally on his toast. He eats with vigour. It feels as though it’s been forever since he ate, although that can’t be right—surely it was only dinner last night? Babe shrugs internally and polishes off the last of his breakfast, standing to rinse the plate in the sink and then heading out the back, whistling for Trigger so he can put his lead on and take him for a walk.

“That reminds me,” Bill says as Babe leads Trigger back through the house to the front door. “Your boy called about a half hour ago. Wasn’t at all surprised when I said you were still conked out, but I said you’d be over as soon as you joined the land of the living.”

“Thanks, Bill,” Babe grins, snagging an apple from the fruit bowl and heading out the door. “I’ll be back for dinner!” he calls over his shoulder, and then sets off with Trigger in tow. They follow the familiar route to the next neighbourhood over, and Babe ties Trigger to the letterbox before taking the porch steps two at a time and knocking on the door. It opens almost instantly.

“You do realise it’s the afternoon, right?” Gene asks, laughing. “Who sleeps in past noon?”

“Um, _normal people?_ But I forgot, that doesn’t describe you at all.”

Gene rolls his eyes and shoves Babe backwards, crowding him against the porch railing. “I thought we were gonna spend the day together,” he says.

“We are! Just… not the whole day?”

Gene rolls his eyes again and leans in to kiss Babe. It’s short, familiar, and warming in a way nothing else is. Gene pulls back and wrinkles his nose in disgust. “Please tell me you brushed your teeth before coming here.” Babe shares a guilty look with Trigger. “You are disgusting, _Edward_.”

“Shove off, _Eugene_. Just because I was too caught up in seeing you.”

“Oh really?” Gene smiles again, soft and genuine, and leans in. Babe’s eyes flutter closed as he leans forward, but then he falls backwards down the steps as Gene gives him another hefty shove. “Oral hygiene before boyfriends,” Gene says loftily, stepping down to join Babe on the grass. “Or don’t you remember the contract you signed?”

“I remember alright,” Babe says, grumbling and getting to his feet. “What I don’t remember is agreeing to a pushy boyfriend. And I mean that literally.” Gene snorts at the pun. “So, what, you want me to go home, brush my teeth, then come back to yours? That’ll take another hour, Gene.”

Gene steps closer, and tucks the little tufts of Babe’s red hair behind his ears. He gives a long-suffering sigh. “I think I can manage without, just this once,” he says, and kisses Babe’s answer away. They stay like that for a while, lips and hands pressed together on Gene’s front lawn, until Trigger gives a demanding bark and Babe pulls back with a grin.

“Sorry,” he says, and Gene smiles.

“Wake up, Edward,” he says, and takes a step back.

“What?”

“Wake up, Edward,” Dick the Good Witch repeats, and Babe’s eyes snap open with a start. He’s lying in the poppies, and seems to be covered in a not insignificant dusting of snow.

“What happened?” Babe groans, sitting up and brushing the white powder from his clothes. It’s cold and wet to the touch, which, duh. Babe sticks his hands in his pockets to warm them up again.

“You and your friends ran afoul of the dreaming flower,” Dick says, helping Babe to his feet. He looks around and sees his companions doing the same, shaking their heads and rubbing their eyes as if to dispel whatever they’d dreamt of from their minds. “You’re lucky I was on my way to Oz, for much longer under its spell and you would’ve slept here forever.”

“Jesus,” Babe says, rubbing his head where he can feel a nasty headache forming. If he fell asleep forever in a dream he was having when he was already asleep, would that—what, kill him? His head hurts. He looks around and sees Trigger sitting close by, staring at him with a concerned tilt to his head like dogs do when they’re distressed. When he sees Babe looking he gives a bark, then trots over to lick at Babe’s hand.

“Good boy,” Babe says, scratching behind Trigger’s ears. “You knew something was up, didn’t you? That’s why you were barking. Sorry I didn’t listen, bud.” He looks back at Dick. “Thanks for the save.”

“You’re quite welcome,” Dick says, pausing, “For the… _save_.” He addresses them all then, after the others have gathered close. “I would advise you to return to the road and continue to the Emerald City that way. It is winding, but safer than the Dreaming Fields.”

“What did those flowers do to us?” George asks curiously. “I saw some weird stuff, sir. Witch. Sir.”

“They do no one thing, George the Scarecrow. Some people see their greatest desires, others their deepest fears and self-doubts. One thing for sure is that none of it is real, and it is dangerous to dwell on dreams whilst there is still much living to be done.” Dick gives each of them a long, searching look, and Babe feels a flicker of guilt like a flame ignite in his stomach. “There is no shame in what you saw in the Field,” he says. “It has happened to travellers far more powerful than yourselves. But your priority now is the Wizard, so it would perhaps be best for us all if you forgot what you saw. Dreams we hold onto have a habit of becoming nightmares.”

Dick then turns and transforms into a silvery-pink bubble, then floats away towards the City. “Wish we could do that,” George says glumly. “My legs feel like they’re about to fall off!”

“Not long to go now,” Babe says, sounding a lot more confident than he feels. He leads the way back to the road and then they set off again, winding their slow way towards the metropolis in the distance. Once again, Babe finds himself walking beside Gene, and he blushes as he remembers his dream. _Some people see their greatest desires,_ Dick said. Babe suddenly wishes he’d seen his deepest fear instead. He wonders idly what Gene dreamt of, but it would be beyond a breach of privacy to ask. Only, Gene isn’t meeting his eyes, and Babe is nothing if not a social klutz.

“See anything interesting?” he asks against his better judgement. Gene doesn’t react for a long moment, then gives a slow, careful shrug.

“Nothing that’ll ever come true,” he replies in a cool, measured voice. “So there’s no use talking about it.” He picks up his pace and leaves Babe behind, falling into step with Julian in front instead. Babe watches him go and wishes, not for the first time, that he was going to Oz for anything but a way home.

*

Finally, _finally_ , the Emerald City stops being a shimmering light on the horizon and stands before them in shining clarity and closeness. Babe feels like weeping. His feet are sore, his eyes are tired, and his heart hurts too much to be close to Gene for much longer without doing something drastic, like slapping him, or kissing him, or both.

The gates to the city are wide open when they reach them, and the group enter without a word, all too awestruck with the scene before them to speak. When they said Emerald City, they really meant it. The metropolis is an explosion of green. The streets, the lampposts, the bricks that make up the buildings, the doors, the clothes everyone is wearing – Babe feels awfully out of place with his red hair and shoes, checked blue shirt, and denim overalls. It seems the others feel much the same, because George keeps sweeping the hat off his head and patting down his straw hair, Julian is clutching his tail like he hasn’t done since they met him in the forest, and Gene is rubbing at the rust stains on his wrists with a handkerchief. Babe catches his hand gently in his and holds it, meeting Gene’s eyes.

“You look fine,” he says quietly, and Gene gives the tin man equivalent of a blush. Babe plucks the hanky from his grip and tucks it inside the pocket of his overalls.

“Everyone’s staring,” Gene says softly, sounding nervous. Babe tightens his grip on his wrist and gives it a little shake.

“They’re staring because you’re the prettiest walking, talking statue they’ve ever seen, not because of the rust on your wrists, Gene.” Gene gives him an odd look, so Babe drops his wrist and continues on through the city, marvelling at the sights before him but Gene an ever-present presence at the back of his mind.

The main road in the city winds slowly up to a hill, upon which is perched a grand, sparkling building which can only be the home of Oz. The companions approach it with trepidation, suddenly overcome by the sheer size and power of the Wizard who awaits them. A guard greets them at the entrance doors, and sizes Babe up as the most likely candidate for conversation.

“The Wizard will see no-one else today,” he informs them, crossing his spear over the door. “Please make an appointment at his earliest convenience.”

“What?” Babe is outraged. “Do you have any idea how far we’ve come? We _need_ to see him, it’s important—”

“That’s what they all say,” the guard says with a shrug. “There is nothing you can say to convince me to let you in. I’m sorry. Please try again another day.” He turns, enters the gates and is about to lock them behind him when Babe shouts, struck by inspiration.

“Wait! Wait. The Witch of the North sent us.”

The guard looks up in shock. “Well why didn’t you say so? Come in, come in.” He ushers them inside and bars the doors behind them. The foyer is, if possible, even more opulent than the exterior of the castle had been. Babe looks around in awe. He’s never seen so much wealth concentrated into one place before. He feels like he shouldn’t be breathing on, let alone walking across, the green marble floors.

The guard leads them through the corridors to a large side chamber with beds for each of them and a shared ensuite.

“The Wizard will summon you when he is ready,” the guard says. “In the meantime, please, freshen up and feel free to rest. You look weary, my friends.” He pulls the door shut behind him and leaves the companions alone for the first time since they entered the city.

“ _Friends_ ,” Babe repeats, scoffing. “He wouldn’t have a bar of us until I mentioned Dick. Some friend he is.”

“Who cares?” George says, laughing and flopping back onto the large featherbed behind him. “We’re here now, aren’t we? Why, this is more comfort than I’ve had in my entire life! And in a few hours, I’ll have a brain, too!” His line of thought cheers the others up, and soothes Babe’s frazzled nerves enough to let him agree to have a shower to remove the grime of a hard day’s trek from his skin. His clothes are covered in road-dust, and the heels could do with a good polish, but there’s nothing he can do for them right now, so Babe just hangs the shirt on the towel rack for a steam while he hops into the shower.

The warm water is glorious. It seems like forever since he’s been properly clean. Babe takes his sweet time under the spray, but reluctantly steps out as it begins to grow cold, gives himself a quick dry, then slips his travel-worn clothes back on with a grimace. His hair is still damp, and he combs his fingers through it in an effort to tame the unruly waves. It doesn’t comply. Babe gives a sigh and steps back out into the chamber, resigned to the fact that his hair will look a mess for his visit to the Wizard.

“Anyone else want a shower?” Babe asks, and gets three quick headshakes. Figures. Gene’ll only get rusty, George will be waterlogged, and Julian would jump three feet into the air when the spray came on and probably break the entire showerhead. So they each recline on their beds, Trigger at the foot of Babe’s, nerves brimming in their stomachs as they await the summons of the Wizard.

They don’t wait long. (Or perhaps they do, and Babe just spent an inordinate amount of time in the shower. It wouldn’t be the first time.) Soon enough, there’s a knock on the door and Gene opens it to reveal one of the Wizard’s attendants, who bids them to follow her to the reception chamber. They do, with differing degrees of trepidation. Gene falls into step with Babe and gives a nervous hum.

“I hope it doesn’t hurt,” he says, sliding a metal hand across his hollow metal chest. “I’ve been told that hearts hurt.”

“They do,” Babe admits. “But not always in a bad way. Sometimes the hurt is good. It reminds you of what you have to love, and what you have to lose.” Gene gives him a curious look, and Babe glances quickly away. He’s put his foot in his mouth yet again. Babe should really put that skill on his business card:

_Edward “Babe” Heffron  
Professional pun-maker, redhead and socially awkward disaster._

“I guess that’s not so bad,” Gene says softly, and when Babe looks at him, he’s staring off into the distance, his hand still hovering over where his heart should be.

They reach the reception chamber quickly. The attendant bids them wait a moment, goes inside, and then calls them in about a minute later. Babe squares his shoulders, pushes open the doors, and prepares to meet the Wizard of Oz.

The room is dimly lit, is the first thing Babe notices. He can’t see much at all. The attendant has disappeared, and Trigger cowers uncharacteristically at Babe’s feet. A booming voice echoes through the room. Behind the curtain on the far wall a shadow of a great man can be seen.

“WHO IS THE LEADER OF YOUR PARTY,” the Wizard says, a question without a question mark on the end. “COME FORTH.” The others all look at Babe, who then sighs and takes a step forward.

“I am, Your, um, Wizardliness?”

“SPEAK YOUR NAME AND PURPOSE FOR DISTURBING MY REPOSE.”

“I’m Babe. Well, it’s Edward, really, but everyone calls me Babe. We, um.” He glances over his shoulder at Gene, who gives him a smile and nods encouragingly. “My friends and I are here to ask you favours.”

“WHAT FAVOURS.”

“Well.” Babe steps closer towards the curtain, Trigger shuffling along at his heels. “George wishes for a brain, Gene for a heart, and Julian for some courage. And I… I wish to go home, Your Wizardliness.”

“WISHES, WISHES,” the Wizard says. “WISHES I CANNOT GRANT WHILST MY MORTAL ENEMY LIVES TO SEE THEM UNDONE.”

“…Sir?” Babe asks, not liking where this conversation is going.

“I BELIEVE YOU’VE MET. THE WICKED WITCH OF THE WEST. HE HAS LONG FOILED MY PLANS AND WISH-GRANTINGS, AND IF YOU WISH YOURS TO COME TRUE, THEN YOU MUST DO A FAVOUR FOR ME IN EXCHANGE.”

“Anything,” Babe says without thinking, then bites his tongue so sharply it bleeds.

“KILL THE WITCH. BRING ME HIS BROOM. THIS YOU MUST DO BEFORE YOU MAY JOURNEY HOME, AND YOUR FRIENDS RECEIVE THEIR GREATEST DESIRES.”

“ _What?_ ” Babe yelps, stepping back so suddenly he trips on Trigger and sprawls on his bottom. He quickly gets back to his feet. “You can’t—we can’t kill the Witch, he’s too powerful!”

“YOU’VE ALREADY SLAYED ONE EVIL SORCERER THIS DAY,” the Wizard says. “YOU MUST DO IT AGAIN.”

“That was an accident! It was my house, not me, I’m not—we’re not—” Babe runs out of words. He can’t imagine this meeting going any worse. Not only has he let his friends down, now he must lead them into even greater danger in order to grant them the things he promised them in the first place.

The Wizard of Oz _sucks_.

“We’ll do it,” comes a voice behind Babe, and he turns to see Gene standing there, looking at the Wizard behind the curtain with his silver eyes blazing. “And you promise to grant us our favours once we return with the Witch’s broomstick?”

“I PROMISE TO DO ALL IN MY POWER TO AID YOU,” the Wizard replies. “YOU MAY REST HERE FOR THE NIGHT, BUT TOMORROW YOU MUST FACE THE WITCH. ONLY THEN WILL YOU GET WHAT YOU CAME HERE FOR.”

The dim lights in the room suddenly go dark, and the Wizard is visible behind the curtain no more. Babe and the others follow the attendant, who has suddenly reappeared, back to their chamber, where she closes the door behind them and leaves them to their thoughts. Babe breaks the long minute’s silence.

“I can’t ask you to do this,” he says, voice low and defeated. “Coming here was one thing, but risking your lives is something you never signed on for.” He looks at Julian. “Especially you, Julian. I’m so sorry.”

“D-d-d-don’t be,” Julian says, taking a deep breath and squaring his shoulders. “You need us if you’re to have any chance at defeating the W-witch.”

“He’s right,” George agrees, looking at Babe with an earnest expression on his face. “You can’t do this alone. We won’t let you.”

Babe stares at them, and these two friends whom he’s known for so short a time and yet loves so dearly. “Thank you,” he says, voice breaking in the last word. He turns to Gene, who is standing by the doorway watching him. “Thank you.”

“We’re gonna get you home,” Gene promises, looking Babe dead in the eye. “I’m gonna get you there.” There might be an _I love you_ buried somewhere in those words, but Babe is too tired to search for it, and for now, this is enough. Standing here, with his friends, the night before taking on their most deadly foe—this, right here, is enough reward for one evening, and if he tries hard enough, Babe can almost forget that this is all in his head.

The four of them settle into their beds, Trigger laid out on the mat in the corner, and one by one they drop off to sleep. Babe lies awake for a while, looking out the window at the stars mapped out above them. He wonders if they’re the same ones that light up the sky back home, if his subconscious stole them from South Philly and planted them in Babe’s dreams.

 _Home_. Babe’s heart aches for it. He misses his family, his friends, the heat of a Philadelphia summer and the white Christmases spent with his uncles. Except—except here, now, Babe has new friends, and he can’t imagine leaving them, even when he knows they’re not real. He thinks of Gene, of his skin like molten silver, of his hollow chest and lullaby of an accent. Babe doesn’t want to leave this behind—but he doesn’t want to miss home forever either. He rolls onto his side and stares at the soft rise and fall of Gene’s empty ribcage. _If I had a heart, it would belong to you_. Babe swallows, closes his eyes, and wills himself to sleep.

*

Babe wakes up far too early, as one often does when one has something important to do. He lies awake for a few minutes, staring at the ceiling and wishing the Wizard had asked them to do anything but this. Anything but kill the Witch.

Sighing, Babe sits up and slides his legs out of bed. To his surprise, Gene is already awake, sitting at the foot of his own bed and staring out the window. He turns to look at Babe.

“Ready?” he asks, voice soft and warm and lilting. Babe sighs again.

“Ready.”

The group sets off less than an hour later, after a hasty breakfast. They follow the yellow brick road out the other side of the city into the west. Trigger walks slowly at Babe’s side instead of bounding ahead like usual, an action which fills them all with a sense of foreboding. They don’t talk much on the journey, although George does an incredibly accurate impression of the Wizard which has them all laughing, even Julian, although his paws still shake at his sides.

The journey isn’t nearly as far as it was to Emerald City, and soon enough the companions round a bend in the road and see in the distance, ringed by jagged rocks and a barren grey wasteland, the castle of the Wicked Witch of the West.

Babe halts at the sight. Behind him, Julian’s shaking is now audible, and Babe feels his own heart thump uncomfortably in his chest, and this time it’s not from the way Gene is looking at him.

“Well. This is it,” Babe says, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly. He turns around to face his friends, looking at each of them in turn. “You don’t have to come any further. You’ve done so much for me already, and I’m sorry you all got dragged into this mess with me.”

“You’re not getting rid of us that easily,” George grins.

“I’m not as scared when I’m with you,” Julian says quietly.

“Let’s go kill a witch,” Gene says. Trigger barks excitedly.

“Let’s go kill a witch,” Babe repeats, turning back to face the castle. He steps forward, ready to face anything with his friends at his back. Suddenly a large screeching sound erupts from the sky and Babe feels himself lifted bodily from the ground, his arms held up by sharp talons that dig into his skin. He screams. Trigger is being carried beside him; Babe can hear his whimpers of fear on the sharp Western wind. George, Julian and Gene are still on the ground, shouting and throwing stones at whoever—or whatever—is carrying Babe and Trigger away.

But it’s no use. Babe watches in despair as his companions recede further into the distance, and the Witch’s castle looms ever closer, its front gates open wide like a gaping maw, ready to swallow Babe and his faithful dog whole.

They enter the gates and fly through the castle, Babe shouting all the while. He and Trigger are dumped unceremoniously on the cold flagstones of the main chamber, where their capturers are revealed. Flying monkeys. They’re _flying monkeys_. Babe would laugh at the messed up shit his brain comes up with if he wasn’t so terrified. Trigger scampers over and Babe clutches him tight, watching the door and waiting for his doom to appear.

He doesn’t wait long. The Witch appears in a flash of smoke, an unnecessarily dramatic entrance which goes well with the vampiric clothing he’s wearing. He looks almost like a scene-kid from the early 2000s (and okay, yes, guilty, Babe _was_ that kid) if it wasn’t for his green skin and eerie resemblance to Babe’s douchebag school principal, a fact which Babe had been able to forget about but now returns with horrifying clarity and force.

“Piss off,” Babe tells him, the best he can come up with in a short space of time whilst absolutely terrified. Trigger gives an affirmative bark.

“Oh, do shut up,” the Witch says, waving his hand at Trigger who yelps and races from the room.

“Hey!” Babe gets to his feet but Trigger is already long gone. “That’s my dog!” Privately, Babe hopes that Trigger can escape and find help, although given the fact that he failed to teach him how to even fetch, Babe’s hopes aren’t high.

“He was lucky. If he’d stuck around, he would’ve had a far worse fate than you.” The Witch grins nastily. His teeth are uncomfortably pointed. “My monkeys love the taste of dog.”

“You’re a monster,” Babe says, and spits.

“No,” says Sobel, wiping the spit from his trousers. “I’m a Witch.” He nods at the monkeys, who tackle Babe back to the ground and pin down his limbs. “Now to take what is rightfully mine,” the Witch murmurs with glee, reaching out his crabbed green hands towards the red slippers Babe had so hated, but would now give up for nothing. But there’s nothing he can do. He can’t move. He can’t even kick the Witch in the face because a monkey is sitting on his knees, and it weighs a ton.

The Witch closes in, and places a single hand on the heel of Babe’s left shoe. Immediately, a burning smell fills the room, and the Witch flinches back, hissing in pain.

“What devilry is this?” he shrieks, reaching out once more. But the slippers glow red hot and he shouts, burned once again.

Babe laughs, and sends a silent thanks to Dick, wherever he is. “They’re mine, and you can’t have them! Tough luck, you old cow.”

The Witch fumes. “Fine,” he spits, “If I can’t take them from you alive, then I’ll just have to kill you first.” He whips out an hourglass from his robes and tips it so the sand at the top begins to drain through the opening. “Before the sand in this timer runs out, you will die. Think on your sins, Witch-slayer.” The Witch stalks from the room, no doubt in search of a suitably dramatic weapon for Babe’s death scene. Despite everything, Babe smiles. He always wanted to be killed by a bad Bond villain.

*

The sand is trickling through the hourglass far more quickly than Babe would like. It’s been maybe ten minutes since the Witch left him, and already the top half is two thirds empty. The despair is really starting to sink in. The rational part of Babe’s mind tells him that this is just a dream, and he can’t possibly die for real in a dream—but this is Oz, and rationality has long since vanished behind them. Maybe, just maybe, this is real—and Babe really is about to die. He’ll never see Bill or Joe or Renee again. He’ll never be able to kiss Gene, to see Trigger grow old, to graduate high school and travel the world. The sand is almost finished falling. Babe can’t have more than a couple minutes left.

Suddenly, from the hallway, a great clamour arises. Footsteps approach down the corridor. The door swings wide, and Babe holds his breath.

George, Gene, Julian and Trigger are shoved unceremoniously inside the room, followed closely by the Witch and three of his guards. Babe breathes out and looks at his friends. Gene gives him a _we tried_ grimace, but none of them dare speak in the presence of the fuming Witch.

“How dare you try to infiltrate my castle?” the Witch shrieks. “How dare you try to kill me!”

“Well, you deserved it!” Julian bursts out. The others look at him in amazement. He’s shaking like a leaf in the wind, but his eyes are blazing. The Witch looks at him in disgust.

“How quick your friends are to defend you,” he says softly, eyeing up each of Babe’s companions in turn. “Pity you led them to their deaths.” He flicks his hand, and George bursts into flames.

“No!” Babe screams, rushing towards his friend. He looks around the room frantically for a miracle—and he finds one. There in the corner are several buckets of water, placed out of the way and almost completely hidden in shadow. _How convenient_ , Babe thinks, but time is short, so he grabs one and empties the entire contents over George, who fizzles out with a hiss.

At the same moment, some of the water splashes onto the Witch, who shrieks in pain. The scream is far worse than when he’d tried to remove Babe’s slippers, and the look on his face is positively terrified.

“The water!” George shouts, sodden and steaming but gesturing frantically at the remaining buckets. “Use the water!”

It clicks. Babe grabs another bucket and heaves it over the Witch, who screams again in a ghastly, inhuman manner. And then, before their very eyes, the Witch begins to melt. His green skin sags and stretches, his robes pooling in a black puddle of slime as he sinks towards the floor, shouting in fear and pain all the while. Babe watches the scene with revulsion, but feels no pity. The Witch would’ve done the same to him and his friends if he’d had half the chance.

Eventually, the Witch has melted down to his torso, then his neck. His eyes begin to bulge, one by one popping out of their sockets. His face melts up towards his chin. “What a world, what a world,” he gurgles, and then melts entirely. The Wicked Witch of the West is no more.

Babe can’t believe it. He looks at his friends, who are grinning, and Trigger, who is barking happily at the puddle on the floor, and Gene, who is looking at Babe like he’s the last thing he’ll ever see. Unbidden, the song of the Munchkins from what seems like forever ago pops into his head: _Ding dong the Witch is dead!_ Babe laughs. At this rate, he could probably be classified as a serial killer.

Their journey back to the Emerald City is far more cheerful. The guards hand over the Witch’s broomstick without much fuss before fleeing the castle with the flying monkeys right behind them. Babe and his friends sing merrily as they travel back up the yellow brick road, the shimmering green walls of the city in the distance lighting the way ahead. Trigger once more bounds along the path ahead of them, and Julian runs along with him, almost fearless. George carries the broom and marvels at its design on the long way home; with some tweaking, he says, anyone would be able to fly it, even a scarecrow. And, as usual, Gene falls into step with Babe, as they follow their friends back to the Wizard and their destinies.

“I can’t believe we did it,” Babe murmurs, eyes on the horizon.

“You did it,” Gene corrects. “All we did was get captured.”

Babe laughs, but his voice is serious. “No, I mean it. We did this together—we met only yesterday but already you all mean so much to me.” He looks at Gene, who is already looking back. “You mean a lot to me,” he says.

“Good, or this woulda been embarrassing.” Gene smiles, and laces the fingers of his right hand with those of Babe’s left. They don’t let go the whole road home.

*

The Emerald City is far less impressive now Babe knows how much of a dick the Wizard is who lives inside of it (no offence, Dick). Their group is let far more easily into the castle this time around, a fact that still doesn’t endear the castellan to Babe in the slightest. But at least they carry with them what the Wizard asked for, and now he has to repay them with their wishes, as he agreed.

The lights are out in the main chamber when they’re let in this time. Babe clears his throat. “Hello? Mr Wizard? We have your broomstick.” He throws it on the floor in front of them, not feeling particularly warm or fuzzy towards the instrument that had a hand in some of Babe’s least fond memories of Oz.

Immediately, the lights flicker on, and the shadow of the Wizard behind the curtain appears. “WELL DONE, HEROES,” he says, and to Babe it sounds almost as though the Wizard is… shocked. Like he didn’t expect them to succeed… Like he didn’t want them to. “YOU MAY LEAVE WITH THE ETERNAL GRATEFULNESS OF MYSELF AND THE REST OF OZ.”

“Hold up.” Babe takes a step forward. “What about our wishes? You promised if we did what you asked, if we brought you this cruddy broom—” with those words he gives the broomstick a solid kick, “—that you’d give us what we wanted. That you’d send me home.”

“…YES,” the Wizard says after a suspicious pause. “YES I DID. STEP FORTH, HEROES.” They do, Babe slightly hesitantly. Something is off about this. Why won’t the Wizard show them his face? Surely, after what they’ve achieved, they deserve that, at least.

“TO THE SCARECROW,” the Wizard says, and George shuffles forward, face open and eager. “I GIVE THIS DIPLOMA. MAY IT BE A MARK OF HIS INTELLIGENCE AND INGENUITY FOR YEARS TO COME.” An attendant scurries out from behind the curtain and hands George a rolled up piece of paper. He stares at it in confusion.

“Um, Mr Wizard, sir? I think you’ve made—”

“TO THE COWARDLY LION,” the Wizard says, ignoring George, “I GIVE THIS MEDAL OF VALOUR, AS A SYMBOL OR YOUR COURAGE AND STRENGTH IN THE FACE OF DIRE CIRCUMSTANCES.” The attendant returns and hands Julian an old war medal, which he takes after a moment’s hesitation.

“Er—”

“TO THE TIN MAN,” the Wizard, practically shouting, announces, “I GIVE THIS WATCH. MAY IT BEAT LIKE YOUR HEART AND REMIND YOU OF THE PRECIOUS TIME YOU HAVE LEFT WITH THOSE YOU LOVE.” The attendant returns for the third time, out of breath, and hands Gene a watch shaped like a heart. Babe stares. _What the actual fuck?_ he thinks.

“AND TO YOU, OUR INTREPID LEADER,” the Wizard concludes, “I GIVE THIS BROOMSTICK. MAY IT LEAD YOU HOME, WHEREVER THAT MAY BE.” Babe looks at the broom at his feet.

“What the actual fuck?” he says aloud. “I can’t use this! It doesn’t even work, George says it won’t without the proper modifications—and I have no bloody clue where _home_ even is! What am I supposed to do, fly around aimlessly until I spot the wreckage my house used to be?” He turns around to face his friends, who all look equal parts confused, angry, and resigned. “And what about my friends? These stupid trinkets don’t help them at all! You think, you think a _wristwatch_ —” Babe snatches it from Gene’s hands and waves it in the direction of the Wizard, “—is a proper substitute for a heart? Just because it ticks? What the fuck is wrong with you, you selfish, arrogant _prig!_ ” With that, Babe stalks towards the curtain and rips it down from the rod. His next words of anger die on his lips when he sees what lies behind the fabric.

“You… _you’re_ the Wizard?” Babe finally says, taking in the man before him.

“Unfortunately, yes,” says the Wizard, and stands shakily to his feet. He’s about the same age as Babe’s uncles, but the scruff on his face and the shadows under his eyes make him look older, wearier. There’s a cynical twist to his mouth, and a silver flask sticks out of his jacket pocket. He smells like whiskey, and reminds Babe of a terrible substitute teacher he once had. “Surprise,” he says, and Babe punches him.

“What the fuck?” Babe yells.

“ _You_ what the fuck? _Me_ what the fuck!” the Wizard shouts, clutching his bruised jaw. “Are you kidding me? The hell was that for?”

“For—for lying! Saying you can help us, when you’re—when you’re—just an old drunk!”

Before the Wizard can defend himself (not that there’s anything he could say that Babe would actually _listen_ to), a familiar silvery bubble floats into the room, gives a pop, and transforms into Dick who, if anything, looks even more awkward and apologetic than the Wizard.

“You knew,” Babe says. “You knew all along what he was, and you—you what, sent us here for a laugh? We almost _died!_ ”

“I know, and I’m sorry.” Dick sighs. He walks over to them, dress swishing with every step. “I should have told you the truth from the beginning, but I’d hoped you’d understand.”

“Understand what? That this whole, this whole quest has been a waste of time?” Out of the corner of his eye, Babe sees Gene flinch. He ignores it, and pushes away the feeling of guilt inside.

“It hasn’t been a waste,” Dick implores. “Don’t you see? You came here for a heart, a brain, some courage—and you found them!” He turns to George. “Who was it who realised how to defeat the Witch? And Julian—” he turns to the lion in question, who is biting his claws, “—you dove headfirst into the Witch’s lair, and showed strength in the face of fear! If that isn’t courage, I don’t know what is. And you, Tin Man.” Dick turns to Gene, and his face goes soft. “I don’t think I have to tell you.” The ghost of a smile appears on Gene’s face, and he nods. Dick turns back to Babe. “Don’t you see?” he says again. “They’ve found what they were looking for—and they found it on this quest. This definitely, not-a-waste-of-time quest.”

Babe looks at his friends, who are all grinning at him, and his stomach feels heavy. “What about me?” he says, in a voice he didn’t mean to be so small, or so pleading. “There’s no magic way for me to return home, is there? You thought the broom would, but—it doesn’t work.”

“No, it doesn’t work,” Dick says. He lays a hand on Babe’s shoulder and smiles. “But there’s something that might.”

*

Babe isn’t ashamed to admit that he cries. These are his friends, some of the best friends he’s ever had, and he’s never going to see them again—just the thought of leaving Gene for good is enough to set off the waterworks.

They keep their goodbyes short. If they didn’t, Babe would never want to leave.

“You’re gonna do something great with those ideas of yours,” he tells George, who grins.

“Being brave doesn’t mean you’re fearless,” he tells Julian. “You’re the bravest lion I know.” Julian lets out a strangled sob and tackles Babe in a hug.

“I wish I could stay with you,” Babe says to Gene, who smiles, soft and sad.

“I wish I could go with you,” Gene replies, and kisses Babe gently on the cheek. “Thank you.”

Babe looks at Gene, at the curve of his smile and the soft metallic sweep of his hair. Babe looks at Gene, and can’t imagine never seeing him again. Babe looks at Gene, takes a deep breath, then taps his heels three times and says, “There’s no place like home.”

And then Babe looks away from Gene for good.

*

When Babe opens his eyes, the first thing he registers is the ache in his head. He groans, pressing his palm against the pain as the world shifts into focus.

“…Uncle Bill?” he says woozily, sitting up too fast and swaying a little.

“Whoa there, kiddo.” Bill’s steady hands soon put Babe to rights. “You had us real worried there for a while.”

“What… what happened?” It all comes back to Babe in a tidal wave of memory. “The tornado—you—the house, how, I don’t understand—”

“Hey, hey, you’re alright.” Babe flops back down on the pillows. “They misread the wind speeds. The tornado wasn’t that bad. Uprooted a couple saplings, but not much more than that. Me ‘n Joe came home from town and saw you knocked out on the floor. You hit your head on somethin’ real sharp, kiddo. Been asleep almost two days.”

Babe struggles to make sense of what his uncle is saying. “So the house didn’t get picked up by the twister?”

Bill laughs. “Lord no! Winds ain’t strong enough for that.”

“I could’ve sworn…” Babe rubs his head again and sighs. “I had the strangest dream. There was a Wizard and a talking scarecrow and a cowardly lion and—” Babe breaks off. He doesn’t want to think about Gene. “And everyone…they all looked like people from home. Mr Winters and Julian down the street and some kids at school…”

“Sounds like a heck of a dream, kid,” Joe says, speaking for the first time from where he’s standing in the doorway. His arms are crossed and his posture relaxed, but his brow is knitted like it always gets when he’s worried. The lines are smoothing over now though. “But it’s all over now.”

“Yeah.” Babe sighs again, turning to bury his face in his pillow. “I guess so.” His uncles are kind enough not to mention the wetness on Babe’s cheeks. He waits until he hears them leave and close the door behind them before giving into the tide of sadness threatening to overcome him.

It was just a dream. He’d known that, of course—told himself that over and over, known all along that all dreams must come to an end. But he hadn’t expected it to feel this way—like he’s lost home all over again, only this time in reverse. Babe sobs once, short and sharp, and wills himself to sleep. He’s tired enough that almost as soon as he closes his eyes, sleep reclaims him quickly once again.

He doesn’t dream at all.

*

It’s a Tuesday; the sun is warm on the back of Babe’s neck, and his heart is beating like a jackhammer in his chest.

“Wish me luck, Trigger,” he’d said to the dog this morning as he dressed for school. Trigger had just tilted his head and continued to lick himself. Babe chose to take that as a good sign.

He’s outside the school gates now, hopping from foot to foot to keep himself distracted as he watches the tide of teenagers pour into the building in the few remaining minutes before morning bell. He’s been here for a half hour already, and would really like to _not_ be late to class with his new History teacher, Vice-Principal Nixon. (Vice-Principal Winters had recently been promoted to Principal, with the sudden and unexpected exit of Principal Sobel from the education system.) Just as the thought crosses his mind, however, a figure in khakis and a white t-shirt comes riding into the parking lot on his bike, swerving over to the bike rack and securing his ride with a chain. He walks over to the front doors and Babe’s heart increases its tempo to a dangerous speed.

“Um, hi,” he says just as the boy is about to walk past him. Babe face palms internally. He’s spent a week rehearsing this meeting and all he can say is _hi_? The boy looks at him in confusion.

“Hi?” he says, a question rather than a greeting. “Sorry, do I know you?”

Babe takes a deep breath. “No,” he says to Eugene Roe, the new transfer student from Louisiana. “But you will.”


End file.
